Just Physical (24 page)

Since Crash still had some time until she would be needed at the second-unit set, she accompanied Jill over to where the crew had set up the conglomerations of tents that served as Dr. Lucy Sharpe's hospital.

Makeup immediately rushed over, pressed Jill into one of the canvas chairs, and reapplied her worn-off lipstick, making Crash bite back a grin.

She let her gaze trail over Jill's body to make sure no other traces of their violation of rule number five could be detected. The high-necked, white blouse looked pristine, and somehow, they had managed not to wrinkle her skirt too much, but one of the laces on her white, pointy-toed ankle boots had come undone.

Crash knew how hard it was to bend over with the corset Jill was wearing. Plus she had noticed that laces, zippers, and buttons were often daunting for Jill, either because her hands had gone numb or because the MS was messing with her fine motor skills.

It sure didn't feel like she's lacking coordination earlier.
She shook off the thought. When the makeup woman finished her work and stepped back, Crash knelt in front of Jill.

“Um, what are you doing?” Jill asked from above her.

Crash smiled up at her. “Don't worry. I'm not proposing or anything.” She tied the laces for her, taking care to pull the loops tight so they wouldn't come undone again.

Jill tried to pull her foot back, but Crash nudged her knee.

“Hold still. There. All done.” Her fingers lingered on Jill's ankle. She couldn't resist touching her, even in this small way.

When she looked up, still in her kneeling position, there was a frown on Jill's face instead of the smile she had expected.

Jill pulled her foot out of Crash's hands. “Don't do that.”

“Do what? Tie your laces?” Crash stared up at her, taken aback by the sudden coldness in Jill's voice.

“Act like you're my caregiver,” Jill whispered sharply.

“I'm not. I just saw that your shoelace was undone and—”

“Then just tell me next time. I learned how to tie my shoelaces when I was three, so I'm perfectly capable of tying them myself.”

“I never said you weren't.”

“But you acted that way.”

Crash gripped the hair at her temples with both hands. It was better than doing what she really wanted to do: grab Jill's shoulders and shake some sense into that stubborn woman. “I just tied your laces for you. I really don't understand what the big deal is, but fine. Have it your way.” She got up from her kneeling position and turned to walk away, but Jill's grip on her wrist made her turn back around.

“The big deal is that we had an agreement, and you're coming awfully close to breaking it. You're not my caregiver or my girlfriend. That hasn't changed.”

The harsh words made Crash flinch. “So, what am I?” she couldn't help asking, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. “Your dirty little secret?”

Jill blanched beneath her fresh layer of film makeup. She looked around the set, which was getting busier as the cast and crew returned from lunch. “You honestly think there's anyone on set who doesn't know why you're spending so much time in my trailer?” Jill asked, her voice softening a bit. “It's not about that.”

Crash consciously tried to relax her hands, which had curled into fists at her sides. “What's it about, then?”

“I just told you. It's about you breaking the rules.”

“I broke the rules by tying your laces?” Crash gave an incredulous shake of her head. She wasn't sure if she should laugh in disbelief or start shouting at Jill. How could Jill make love…sleep with her one minute and then not even allow her to tie her laces the next? “That's bullshit, Jill.”

They stared at each other. Jill opened her mouth to say something when one of the PAs jogged up to them. “Mr. Brower is looking for you over at the stunt trailer,” he said to Crash. “He wants you to pad up now.”

Crash was starting to think of production assistants as the bane of her existence. Their timing really sucked. But maybe she should be glad about the interruption this time. She didn't want to lash out at Jill, but neither did she want to put up with the hot-and-cold treatment. “I have to go,” she said to Jill, shook off Jill's grip on her wrist, and walked away without waiting for a reply.

Crash listened to Ben, their stunt coordinator, while they did one last walk-through of the glass stunt, but half her attention was still on the conversation she'd just had with Jill—if you could even call it a conversation.

Jill's words kept echoing through her mind.
You're not my caregiver or my girlfriend.

It all came down to that. She couldn't be one without the other, so Jill wouldn't let her be either. How the hell could she get her to accept normal, considerate acts without freaking out or believing that every little sign of Crash's caring had to do with her damn MS?

“Crash?” Ben waved a hand up and down in front of her face. “You with us?”

“Uh, yeah.” She bent and pretended to examine the dinner table she was supposed to smash into. It appeared solid, but she knew it was made of soft balsa wood, which would splinter easily under her weight. Next, she ran her fingertips over the wine glasses and the decanter on the table. They, too, looked like the real deal, even though they were candy glass, which would shatter into tiny fragments without hurting her.

At least that was the plan.

“Do you want to do a trial run with the glasses?” Ben asked. “We have a couple of extras, but the tables are too expensive to test.”

Crash shook her head. She wanted to get this over and done with and then go home to lick her emotional wounds. No use in hanging around the set to have dinner with Jill tonight. “It should be fine. We did three practice runs of the scuffle yesterday. The timing isn't complicated, just one well-aimed push and—bam!”

“Great.” Ben turned to the crew. “We're doing this from two angles—the homeowner's wife,” he pointed to Crash, “and the looter.” He gestured toward the other stuntman. “Two takes from each should do it.”

While the crew got ready, Crash tried to get into the mental space that allowed single-minded focus, forgetting all about Jill and their fight.

“Ready?” Ben asked.

She exchanged glances with her colleague and nodded.

“Quiet on the set! We're shooting.”

Camera and sound started rolling, and then Ben called, “Action!”

Crash let out a piercing scream as the stuntman, playing an armed looter, advanced on her.

“Cut!” Ben called before her colleague could push her into the table. He shook his head at Crash. “Scared, remember? You're scared for your life.”

“Uh, yeah, I know,” Crash said, irritated with the interruption.

“But that wasn't what you portrayed. That scream sounded angry and frustrated, like you were about to grab the decanter and hit him over the head.”

Shit.
Maybe she hadn't been as successful at forgetting about Jill as she had thought. “Sorry. I've got it now.”
Scared, scared, scared,
she mentally chanted while she waited for the cameras to start rolling again, but her frustration with Jill threatened to break through.
Come on. Method Acting 101. You can do it.

She tried to think of a situation in which she'd been scared. An image of her being set on fire immediately came to mind.

This time, she had no problems sounding panicked when Ben shouted, “Action!”

The stuntman advanced on her and roughly pushed her out of the way, making her fly backward and smash into the table.

The balsa furniture collapsed into a pile of wood debris. The candy glass shattered beneath her back as she landed on the floor, little fragments flying everywhere, so Crash kept her eyes shut for safety reasons until Ben called, “Cut. Nice job.”

Grinning, Crash got to her feet and shook tiny pieces of candy glass from her costume.

Someone from the makeup department came over and used a brush to remove the littlest fragments from her clothes and skin.

The crew immediately got to work, clearing the set of wood and glass and setting up a new table.

“Oh, shit.” His forehead set into more furrows than a basset hound's, Ben strode over to her. “You're bleeding. Are you okay?”

With her adrenaline still pumping, nothing hurt. Crash scanned her body and realized that a piece of candy glass was embedded into the side of her hand. She had probably broken her fall with that hand and landed on the glass fragments.

The set medic, who stood by during every stunt, rushed over.

“I'm fine,” she said. Truth be told, she would have said that even if the cut had been worse. As a stunt person, you didn't want to appear weak, especially if you were a woman trying to make it in the good old boys' club. She prided herself on never crying, never complaining, and—most importantly—never holding up production. Little cuts like this one were nothing out of the ordinary when doing a glass gag.

Ben shook his head. “A bleeding wound isn't fine in my book.” He stepped aside so the medic could take a look.

Crash suppressed a flinch when the medic pulled a glass shard out of her hand with a pair of tweezers. He pressed a piece of gauze against the cut to stop the bleeding and then placed two transparent butterfly bandages on it that wouldn't show up on film. “That should take care of it for now, but I'm not sure the Steri-Strips are enough. As soon as you finish here, you should go to the ER and get a couple of stitches.”

Wonderful.
Crash suppressed a curse.
Great ending to a great day.
She sighed.

Ben looked over the medic's shoulder with a concerned expression. “Want me to call Jill so she can take you to the ER?”

She gave him a surprised look.

“I mean… You're…uh, friends, right?” Ben said.

So Jill had been right. Most people on set probably suspected that there was something going on between them. Well, Crash didn't care, at least not for herself. Stunt performers had a reputation as bold daredevils, so people assumed her to be the love-them-and-leave-them type anyway. But she didn't want him to think Jill was acting unprofessional by starting an affair with her stunt double. “We became friends when she let me hang out in her air-conditioned trailer.”

Ben waved her explanation away. “Air-conditioned trailer, huh? Whatever. I think they already wrapped for the day on the first-unit set, so I'm sure she could take you. Want me to call her?” He gestured at a PA with a walkie-talkie around her neck.

“Nah.” Jill had made it clear that she didn't want mutual care and support. “Let's do take two. If it still looks like I'm going to need stitches after we shoot the last take, I'll drive myself.”

“Do you think you'll be able to work tomorrow?” he asked with a skeptical glance at her hand.

Crash peeked at her hand and experimentally curled her fingers. Despite the butterfly bandage, blood oozed from the cut.
Damn.
“Sure. If I can wear gloves, they'll even hide the stitches if I get any.”

Ben shook his head. “You can't. I need you for a scene in which the soldiers force people to help remove debris from the streets. It's a bare-handed shot.” He tapped his chin with his index finger.

“Can we switch around the order of scenes on the call sheet? Maybe do this one a little later? I'm a fast healer.” She didn't want to give up any of the stunt scenes if she could help it. From the very first day on set, she'd taken on as many gags as Ben allowed her to do, even several in which she wasn't doubling Jill. If she played her cards right, this movie could be her ticket to more steady work and doing stunts for more well-known actresses. Then her career would be back to where it was before the motorcycle accident and that damn fire stunt.

Ben dashed her hopes when he shook his head. “No. Floyd doesn't like shooting around such inconsequential scenes. I'll get one of the other stuntwomen to do it. Take the day off tomorrow and get some rest.”

“But I'll still get to do the other stunts, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Luck isn't on your side, but I like your work.”

Crash pressed her lips together and gave him a tense nod. “Okay. Let's do the final takes so I can get this taken care of.”